


today i'm (still growing)

by emochill



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bad Poetry, Gen, Gender Issues, Introspection, Mommy Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28079937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emochill/pseuds/emochill
Summary: i'm sixteen today and cold.cold and shaking and aching and locked away in my room avoiding my academic responsibilities,
Relationships: Author/Idea
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	today i'm (still growing)

**Author's Note:**

> my birthday (12/15) is literally a day away and i got emo about it so i wrote this. 
> 
> enjoy i guess; kinda poured my soul into this lol

i'm sixteen today, 

i'm sixteen today and cold. 

cold and shaking and aching and locked away in my room avoiding my academic responsibilities, 

i'm sixteen today and failing all my classes and deep down there is panic that has made a home for itself in the marrow of my bones, in the curve of my shoulders, in the crease of my eyes, there is weariness that settles on the nape of my neck, that makes itself comfortable in the middle of my back

it announces itself in every crack of my back, it screams out to me _i’m here i’m here i’m here_ in the chill of my joints, it tastes like grim acceptance, it is the ache in my hand, it is the constant subtle pain of my body. 

i’m sixteen today, and tired. tired of walking on eggshells around my family, tired of feeling like shit because i have no motivation to finish any work 

even now, i started this fucking poem to not do an essay that’s worth 30 points due tomorrow, is this the burnout people talked about? 

this was supposed to be about the passage of time and how quickly it flies, was supposed to wax poetic about how i am a culmination of all the years i’ve lived and all things i’ve seen. was supposed to say that this wasn’t something i was eager about, how it’s another life another birthday, another day 

but i’m sixteen today, and school is all i know, by now school is synonymous with stress, with failed expectations and fear and screaming matches with my mother, with slaps across the face and the crumbling of an already failing relationship, and yes i am bitter and yes i do cry about this ( _hot tears of shame and anger and guilt burning their way down my face and chipping down at the little bits happiness i’ve hidden away in my little black rotten heart_ ) because i never thought that my grades would be worth more than my well-being. 

i’m sixteen today and at the time that i’m writing this, my birthday is coming up in two days, that was the whole point of this needless ramble. the whole point that i wanted to say because my birthday is in two days and i was never too enthusiastic about it, oh sure, when i was a little kid i would stay up and count down the minutes and cheer to myself, and i’d wake up to birthday songs and well wishes and sincere hugs but that was minute affections, ( _r_ _ewards for being compliant_ )

because i never planned the day, never had a say in what to do, i don’t know what a perfect birthday looks like because i have never had one. for i am a faithful daughter in my mother’s eyes, a willful prideful girl, reminiscent of my father, she hisses at me in particularly vicious fights. a girl who reaches for the stars and moon and makes a grab at the sun while she’s at it, she’d announce, proud and gentle, acting for all the world like she knows me down to the most profound level. 

( _there is a cruel part inside my head that whispers to me_

_“tell her what you are, who you are, it chokes you up to be referred to as a girl doesn’t it? you would rather be referred to as nothing at all, a genderless concept, a person free of the chains of expectations”_

_there is an even quieter part of me, that sighs, “even you would not mind to be referred to as a boy, huh. because as a boy your outbursts would be expected, even maybe encouraged. because as a boy you would not be expected to raise a child, as a boy you would not be chained to the role of a caretaker, a wife, a concept of property_ ) 

( _i quiet those parts, unwilling to think of it even as it builds tar in my lungs and crawls up my throat and slithers up my chest and arms like slime, viscous and almost dehumanizing and always always sexualizing this body_ ) 

i am, to my mother, a girl, her only daughter, whom she loves, whom she treasures, whom she wishes the best for 

**but that is not me, not truly. and it would kill my mother’s love for me if i told her**

( _nevermind the toll it takes on me_ )

i’m sixteen today and in all the years i’ve lived, i have never had one birthday happen according to my wishes, even now, if someone were to ask me, “what do you wanna do on your birthday?” i would shrug and gesture to my mom. “i don’t care, ask my mom, whatever she wants to do today,” i’d say and bow out of the interaction. 

this wasn’t supposed to be somber, wasn’t supposed to be sad, wasn’t supposed to be like the apathy that carved itself in the curve of my knees, wasn’t supposed to be the practiced indifferent mask i don everyday 

a friend told me i didn’t deserve to be treated like this, that someone as kind and nice and earnest as me shouldn’t be subjected to this treatment. i’m not too sure about that. surely i am deserving of this unhappiness, of this guilt, this shame and this hot white seething anger i push away in the face of the warmth of friendship. surely me with all my shortcomings and bad qualities need these adversaries to keep myself humble, to keep myself in check. 

these conflicts and losing battles to keep me compliant and quiet, downtrodden like an old beaten dog on the doors of death. these chains and whips to keep me from overestimating and trying to fly away like a bird is wont to do when the season change comes

surely a poor bastard like me, unloved and unholy must be put in their place

i’m sixteen today and unholy. st flora whispered in my ear, _forgive and forget_. st flora perhaps has gone through much worse betrayal than i. perhaps crueler abandonment than i. she had been made a saint for a reason.

oh patron saint of the abandoned and the betrayed, she is holy and good. and i am not. i raged and screamed out my grief at being left behind. snarled and destroyed myself for being backstabbed. st flora has long since stopped attempting to ease me into forgiveness, st flora has turned her back on me

i’m sixteen today and st flora is in the past, st flora was for when i was soft edges and open hearted and wide-eyed and easy to hurt. but now in a christian household, the hurt is savage, it burns white hot right in my chest, leaving me cold and hot every time i am reminded of what is expected of me. 

here in this household i am expected to bend the knee and pray to a god that has never answered me. here i am expected to remain faithful to a deity that is called almighty, all knowing, and kind. how kind can that deity be if they let the world go to flames like this? how am i expected to follow blindly when my history with that has only led to pain and misery and uncertainty? 

i’m sixteen today, and am expected to carry my parents’ religious legacy as their faithful steadfast _daughter_

(i’ve _danced to this tune for long enough, treaded the line between girl and boy and nothing at all for a long time, perhaps far longer that i care to_ _remember_ )

i’m sixteen today, and still so tired.

but

but

i’m seventeen tomorrow, and cautiously hopeful. maybe it will work out. maybe it will be okay, maybe i’ll be twenty-five and traveling and loving and laughing, maybe i’ll be twenty-three teasing my friends and we’ll laugh and cry and think about how far we’ve come from being a bunch of reckless aimless desperate teenagers in long beach. 

at the time that i’m writing this, i’ll be seventeen tomorrow, and yeah i’m still a little scared but that's just what happens in the passage of time. not knowing what’s gonna happen tomorrow is a feeling i know. ( _even if it feels like i’m reliving the same day everyday_ ) 

at the time that i’m writing this, i’ll be seventeen tomorrow, and i’ll be another year older, i’ll be a year older and closer to freedom. i’ll be closer to being myself, i’ll be closer to being what i’ve always wanted to be. 

i’m seventeen tomorrow, and maybe i’ll learn to be and stay happy.

**Author's Note:**

> uhh yeah i am full of longing of a time that i don't remember and of things i've forgotten about,  
> anyway yayyy happy birthday to me.


End file.
